onionbagblog

“I am committed to getting around the silos of the owners of social media, and making it possible for developers and users to build their own networks with their own rules, and not have to wait for corporate programmers to give them the tools, we need to be able to make them for ourselves.”

Dave Winer on big tech and silos. Wise words.

“Cities, by contrast, are messy places: places of fluidity and freedom and possibility, places of chaos and collaboration and conflict. And sometimes they work and sometimes they don’t, but we embrace them nonetheless because in their forced intimacy, in their inexorable flow of ideas and influences and cuisines, they are the fullest expression of what it is to be human”

Wonderful words from Jonathan Liew.

Bike lanes crucial to preventing cycling near misses, major new study suggests

🐻 💩

Zack Polanski Has Pledged to Legalise Drugs. So Should All Leftwing Leaders

Thoughts on the David Bowie Centre over at V&E East.

tl;dr Where’s Dave? I struggled to find him in spirt amongst the sterile setting of the vast storehouse out east.

Actually, that’s a little unfair.

The DB Collection itself is a right faff to find. Once I had dragged my arse all the way over from Stratford tube, past the Copper Box and then a bit further to the V&E, all would be fine, I thought.

Wrong.

There was zero signage for the DB Collection. Or nothing visible that leaps out at you.

I had a tight deadline as I was booked in at a specific time slot. I had to find the Collection or lose my spot.

I asked a staff member - who was looking cool as fuck, in the oh so urban V&E livery.

“Up two flights of stairs and turn left by aisle 27.”

OK…

And so I headed up two flights, turned left, and then nothing except more racks hoarding the world’s largest jumble sale of tat, aka the new V&E Storehouse.

I asked another staff member. This time I was given more detailed instructions.

Ah - so there’s the entrance. But yeah, what a bloody faff.

The V&E has been keen to hype up the DB Centre with limited drops for ticket availability. If something is so hot, then I would want to make a splash about it at the actual Storehouse.

What awaits inside is a curated selection of the 90,000 items from the Bowie archive, all entrusted to the V&A for a public show and tell.

That’s obviously a lot of floor space needed, which isn’t there. And so the items are rotated every few months or so.

It’s a clever marketing ploy for repeat visits, even if tickets are free.

Exit through the gift shop, etc.

I made my way into what I thought was the first room. It turned out to be the only room.

Oh. So is that it?

It’s not that the DB Centre is dull, but it is lacking in any sense of the artist being amongst you. One large video screen doesn’t cut it.

For such a visual artist, it’s a little odd that some of his costumes are packaged up in suit bags, and then hung up on high.

Dave? DAVE?

Anyone home?

The QR thing was also a right pain. Little context is given in the display cabinets themselves. You need to access pdfs on your phone via the QR code to get a basic item description.

I found myself blue screening at my bloody phone, rather than actually engaging with some major artefacts of cultural significance that were right in front of my eyes.

When I did look up, there were some lovely moments. The TOTP Starman jacket, the Ziggy bodysuit knitwear, and even the Steve McQueen designed Earthling Union jacket are on display.

Bowie was at his best when he had the best hairstyle - which has to be 1975 and Young Americans, right? The display covering the plastic soul period is great.

Not so thrilling was the Yahoo! Internet Life Online Music Award.

I had a genuine wtf moment in seeing a Gail Ann Dorsey stage outfit with a retro Forest patch sewn in.

It was quite relaxed in the small space. My one memory from the paid for David Bowie Is at the V&E back in 2013 was the bunfight to view anything.

And so despite the schlep out East, despite the difficulty in finding the front door, and despite the Where’s Dave? angle, the DB Centre is probably worth a visit.

I hope that more can be made of the great man during future visits, given the vastness of the archive available.

I love the oddball story behind this. Writing an urban concept album based around losing £1k [SPOILER] down the back of a telly, shows that we have moved on from the days of 70’s prog.

This was so fresh when it was first released. There wasn’t anything like it around at the time. It does sound a little dated now, but only with the song references, and not the style. C-Mone steals the show.

I rinsed this to death back in the day. I wouldn’t have hesitated then in giving it five stars. I paused a little this morning. But yep - it still stacks up.

So ambitious, so cocky, so bloody young.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

To Newport Street Gallery!

Which is possibly the best free art gallery in London. Quite a claim.

Making the short visit over to Vauxhall never disappoints. NPG is the perfect size for an afternoon of art. Four main spaces, lofty and fun.

Art should always be fun. That’s not something I can say after a visit to The National Gallery.

The current NPG has a collab exhibition between three of my FAVE artists: Shepard Fairey, Invader, and yep, NPG owner Damien Hirst.

What’s the point in owning and investing in a central London gallery space if you can’t show off your own talents?

Triple Trouble (hat tip to the Beasties) is curated by Connor Hirst. Nepotism ahoy? Who gives a shit. This is bloody ACE exhibition that is well thought out and presented.

As you would hope for three anarchic artists, there’s no real order or flow to the galleries. You just wander around, and pick and mix what you will.

The photo of Sid was a favourite of mine; also the giant ashtray that was full of thousands of fag ends. You can still smell the tobacco; I still had the urge, 35 years after quitting.

The real fun at Triple Trouble is the collabs. Invader has 3D models of his signature pixel look suspended in formaldehyde. Hirst’s polka dots takeover some Andre prints produced by Shepard Fairey.

The pixels work really well in this vast space. Up close and it’s difficult to pick out the detail. You need to take a few steps back for them all to make sense.

My only moan was that I seemed to be stalked by an old fella throughout the gallery. Whenever I wanted to retreat to take in the wider picture, he was standing behind me.

Whatever.

Triple Trouble is the best exhibition yet at NPG. I always seem to say that, but I think I genuinely mean it this time. Repeated visits are needed.

To Gasworks Gallery!

Marie-Claire Messouma Manlanbien: Mémoires des corps is the current exhibition. Quite a mouthful, for such a small gallery space.

Also long in length was the handout given to me by the charming front of house person.

I like to approach exhibitions blind. Understanding the concept and original ideas from the artist often ruins it for me. I prefer to approach with a fresh set of eyes.

The lengthy handout can be my toilet reading homework for later.

Ahh! So THAT was the whole point. And I thought it was all about pretty colours.

The pretty colours on show at Gasworks were aplenty. I was particularly taken aback by the charming peach shade that was painted on the walls for this exhibition.

But what about the art?

It was all a little mystic. The centrepiece is three handwoven fabrics hanging from the ceiling. They are surrounded by shells, also suspended in the space.

And beanbags.

There’s always beanbags at these exhibitions. I’m not the type of extrovert who takes up the position on the floor to add an extra layer of pretension to all the art noodling.

It’s a pleasant exhibition, but one that I haven’t got a clue what it’s all about. Maybe I should have taken a seat at the gallery and read the handout.

And not that type of seat, either.

Gasworks is a great little South London gallery tucked away behind The Oval. There’s always something worth exploring.

A spare half hour or so hanging around in Notting Hill.

Hey! I know what. The old Music and Video Exchange is still open around these parts. You can’t beat a bit of Sunday lunchtime crate digging.

Music and Video Exchanges are quite a thing.

Back in the day the Fulham Broadway branch was my legit fence to offload all the endless promo crap that was sent my way. That kept me in BOOZE money for the week ahead.

I’m amazed that the Notting Hill shop is still open. It’s quite a treasure trove as well.

Vinyl, CD’s and yep, cassettes are all on sale. I struggled to see any videos. It’s best not to mess with a brand.

The place was buzzing around lunchtime - and not just with old muso farts like me.

It was encouraging to see the young folk of West London flocking through the vinyl and spending.

My budget didn’t quite reach to vinyl today. I did walk out with The The’s Time Bomb and the debut solo from the silly old racist Mozza - but he wasn’t a sill old racist back then, so, erm, that makes it alright then.

Suedehead remains a beautiful piece of work, sitting well immediately after the post- Smiths period. It’s also got the His Master’s Voice label imprint.

Time Bomb is of a similar theme. Beat(en) Generation is perhaps the last great rally cry against Thatcherism in the later 1980’s.

To The Design Museum! For The Blitz exhibition!

I explained my weekend plans to a colleague. They questioned why there was an exhibition about the Blitz at The Design Museum, and not the Imperial War Museum.

Destroy Borders, Build Stages, as we use to say in the day.

First things first: £18 is a tad pricey for an exhibition that will occupy you for a good hour.

Yeah yeah - I’m kinda out of touch, and still expect to pay a grubby fiver for a boozer toilet gig.

I rarely pay for exhibitions, such is the availability of fantastic freebie shows across London.

£18 felt about right an hour or so after I left The Blitz. There was so many artefacts and historical cultural items to justify the price.

The journey over to West Ldn itself was interesting. With the Sunday morning rain struggling to lift, I abandoned the bicycle ride idea, and opted for a tube and bus combo.

Sitting opposite me on the Victoria Line was a young female who looked like she had just exited The Blitz back in 1979.

DECENT look, Madam.

It was al there: Curtains for trousers that swirled all the way down to her ankles, and then came to an abrupt halt as they tapered around her army boots.

This must be a sign that the £18 for The Blitz was going to be money well spent.

I missed out on The Blitz experience by a few years.

To cut a long story short, etc, the characters that emerged out of Covent Garden and into the charts, reached me a year or so later in the local village youth club.

The original energy had long since moved on and become part of mainstream culture by the time I was trying to perfect my Studio Line crafted fringe.

Any FOMO back in 1982 was resolved this morning at The Design Museum. The attention to detail is incredible.

The exhibition documents the social history that led to The Blitz being set up by a bunch of outsider misfits. The context is an important part of the story.

Too glam to conform, too fleeting to stay.

Or something.

I was obsessive as I made my way around the gallery spaces, insisting on reading every last detail of text. I surprised myself by being more drawn towards the designers and costumes, rather than the music. I reckon I could still carry that look, if not the hair.

For such a short-lived scene, it’s surprising how much photographic evidence exists. It’s not as if the characters were shy about coming forward…

One corner of The Design Museum has been mocked up to resemble the club itself. An early live performance by Spandau appears on the stage. It’s the acceptable version of the bloody Abba avatars. I allowed myself a little bop whilst alone in the club.

This is a wonderful time capsule of an exhibition that explains a lot about how mid and late 1980’s music and culture developed.

For such a small, tight crowd, it’s astonishing how the Blitz Kids were able to spread their wings far and wide.

Christ, they were bloody young.

Now that’s more like it.

Wrap up warm, soak up the S Ldn rays and it could be mid-June.

Sorta.

I’ll miss the Veteran Car Run chugging along South Lambeth Road, if future personal plans ever come to something. Every November, for a quarter of a Century (!) I’ve been woken by the sound of the classic cars slowly making their way towards Brixton.

It’s Destination Brighton for the relics as part of the annual coastal run. It must be a challenge for some of them to make it even as far as St Reatham up the road.

You can hear them coming at the Stockwell end of South Lambeth Road all the way from the Little Porto end. Those old engines aren’t exactly cutting edge EV technology. It’s the one exception I can make without going ape shit over petrol polluters.

Sunday morning was very similar to the previous twenty four years of observing the grand old spectacle. It always seems to rain on this one weekend of the year. The dampness combined with the petrol led to a very intoxicating smell.

The drivers and passengers looked dapper. I was more in awe with some of the wardrobe decisions than the old bangers themselves.

This may - or may not - be my final year of observing this tradition. I like to think that the Veteran Car Run will still be taking place in twenty five years time.